


You Are Owed

by imnotunderstanding



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual enemies to lovers, Gay, Jim Moriarty in Sherlock's Mind Palace, M/M, Mind Games, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Secret Relationship, Sheriarty - Freeform, Sherlock's Mind Palace, late at night nightmares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28002459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotunderstanding/pseuds/imnotunderstanding
Summary: Having unexpected nightmares, Sherlock can't sleep at night. What he doesn't expect when he decides to give up on rest is Moriarty lying still in his bed apparently sleep. With the help of the figment of Moriarty that exists in his mind palace, Sherlock deduces what he should do next.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	You Are Owed

**Author's Note:**

> *this is just what I wish would happen in the show

_AA groups were for the drunk bastards of the world who couldn’t find the energy to get it up to release steam from all their issues or people who didn’t have the stomach for drugs_ , or so Richie B. thought.

He hated being around people down on their luck only because they couldn’t just put down something as inanimate as a bottle that reflected the silhouette of their misery. 

_And damn_ , he would add. _Take a fucking shower and drink mouthwash to at least hide the addiction._

Regardless, Richie B was there.

If the leader of the group figured to ask him what his story was, he planned to say he’s there because of a fallout with someone he worked with that led to his addiction with which was a lie, but they couldn’t know that. Though he had sunglasses in front of his strained eyes and earphones playing “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses that gave off the vibe that he didn’t want to be bothered. 

Also Richie B hated being in community centers where the people who walked in and out were all strangers and unpredictable. 

“Richard?” The young leader of the group called, although Richie B of course wouldn’t respond because behind the dark tent of his sunglasses, his brown eyes were closed focusing on the lyrics of the song. 

However Richie B’s attention was caught as the old lady with shaggy hair besides him pinched his thigh hard. 

“OUCH! WHAT?” Richie B shouted as reflex, forgetting that he was in the midst of strangers. Reluctantly he paused his music, but he definitely was not gonna take off his sunglasses to reveal his eyes-the window to the soul some call it. “I mean errrr, sorry. Yes?”

“Why are you here?” The dried up hippie asked as if harming him with the squeeze of her crusty fingers wasn’t enough. 

Richie B wanted to laugh so bad because of the believable act he was putting on, but he couldn’t.

Suddenly putting on a weepy tone and a random American accent from his natural Irish one, he opened his mouth. “Six months ago I think…..I ummm...I lost my job. The main person I worked for eventually felt unsatisfied with what I consider was the satisfying work, so they cut me loose. I didn’t do what I did for the money-I did what I did because I _liked_ it. Anyways I met this man who gave meaning to my life, and I fell in love. _Love?_ Mmmmm...Yea, I'd call it love. Through him I found a new job-one I really _really_ liked. Then he screwed me. It seems as if too, too many things went wrong.”

Although the lighting in the room was dim, he could tell everyone seemed either puzzled or annoyed with his answer. 

“Bloody hell, so how did you wind up an alcoholic?” Some eager to know man shouted across the circle. 

Richie B pressed play on his music once again, triggered by the outburst. “At least I talked asshole,” he mumbled. 

Some shifted uncomfortably in their chair at his remark, they already had enough drama outside of the building to deal with. Richie B then took off his sunglasses and darted his eyes at this one fidgety bulky man staring at the dirty carpet flooring. Confidently standing up with his furry coat on to shield him for his distaste for the cold weather outside, he walked to the heavy weight man and no one stopped him. 

The muscular man looked up, face turning as pale as a ghost. “Moriarty?”

Upset his former assassin had almost got one of his clients killed by a rival of his, Richie B who actually was Moriarty opened his coat up to grab his gun and shot not only his former employee in the forehead, but all except one scrawny blond woman. He actually shot her in the leg because he needed at least one alive witness to the crime at hand. 

Once again with a malicious intent, Moriarty spoke loudly and like an evil queen. “Tell the police, the press, and whoever that Sherlock Holmes sent me.”

~~~~~

All through the night Sherlock tossed and turned and tossed and turned, sweating bullets like there was a reward to it. 

_Nightmares are a human experience,_ he thought as he dreamed through each terrible one. _So why am I having them?_

He forced himself to wake up, but he instantly regretted it because he saw Moriarty hogging up the other half of his bed. His enemy laid still spread out like a parachute in a long black coat and ashy black business suit with his polished shoes still on. 

Moving very slowly, Sherlock sat up and tried to read his face in the darkness of the room despite the fact he wearing pitch black sunglasses.

And for once, just once, Sherlock believed the psychopath looked harmless.

 _He’s asleep,_ Sherlock concluded as he slowly reached his steady hand to lift off Moriarty’s sunglasses, but suddenly a white trembling hand grabbed him from the other side of his nemesis’ body.

Sherlock looked up and there was Moriarty in a black cloak and hood holding onto his wrist. 

_There’s two of them? What the-_

“Fuck?” Cloaked Moriarty finished in a whisper as he smiled at the sight of touching Sherlock. “Don’t. _Trust me._ Don’t.”

“You’re a twin?”

“I exist in your mind palace. I’m only your internal thoughts come to life when your curiosity is getting the best of you making you do stupid, _stupid_ , irritable, predictable, mundane, lazy minded things,” Cloaked Moriarty hated to explain, widening his eyes like a lifeguard would at the sight of danger but instead for shock value as he hesitantly released his grasp off of Sherlock. 

The whole exchange caused the great detective to receive chills up and down his spine. 

“So this isn’t a dream,” Sherlock stated but it came out more of a question making imaginary Moriarty roll his eyes. Slowly getting out of bed, Sherlock slyly reached for the gun beneath his pillow and shoved it in the lining of his pants underneath his collared white shirt. He wasn’t wearing regular pajamas because he passed out from a thrilling case he solved earlier tonight.

Like he did in real life, Cloaked Moriarty’s eyes wanted to bulge out as his voice went to several different volumes because of his excitement. “CORRECTOMUNDO, it's real! If John were to walk into the room any second now, he’d see you in bed with me not saying a word because-”

“Everything I’m saying-”

“IS ALL INTERNAL, IDIOT!”

Cloaked Moriarty slowly made his way around the bed to stand besides Sherlock and look at him up and down. Underneath his locks of tousled hair, misty eyes, and opened mouth, there was Sherlock’s inability to stop swallowing down his confusion and Cloaked Moriarty noticed.

“Awwwwwww, is the little virgin scared of waking up in bed next to someone?”

Sherlock winced at the name calling, tired of the stalling. “Why are you here?”

“Everything I have to say has already crossed _your_ mind.”

_Earlier today. The Daily News. Twelve AA members were found dead at a community center in London. Only one survivor-critical condition. Reports the gunman told her I sent him….Height and hair taken from video cameras outside the building matched Moriarty’s._

Cloaked Moriarty laughed like a maniac as Sherlock frantically pieced everything together. 

_If Moriarty risked being caught to kill someone himself then this means the crime was personal. His intended target must’ve been someone he worked closely with. Maybe someone in a high position to the point they have people working beneath them following their orders. Either way this must mean some of Moriarty’s clan of criminals are rebelling from his plans or failing at them. And if Moriarty’s crew is destabilizing that means he isn’t protected well-it means he’s vulnerable. Vulnerability means for him-a consulting criminal, an easier ticket to jail. And killing me or at least making me suffer isn’t fun from a high maximum security prison-_

“BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, SHERLOCK!” Screamed Cloaked Moriarty in Sherlock’s face. “GET TO THE POINT ALREADY! JEEZ…….I can’t believe people think you’re smart. People are so dumb and ordinary. Yuck!”

Sherlock relished at seeing the figment of his imagination of Moriarty sticking his tongue out like an animal, but it's something Moriarty would do in real life. Though Sherlock had to stand and look at the bright side of this weird moment in his mind.

_The good thing about this Moriarty is that he doesn’t smell like £300 worth of cologne, the overpriced shampoo he uses in his sleek oblique hair, or yell with the capability of having people several miles away hear him. He also doesn’t have a phone to blast 70s or 80s music. And at least when his silver moon colored body of his comes close to me I can’t feel him breathe on me. His breath is so-_

“Geee whiz, Sherlock. Are you done fangirling over me? I know I’m super special to you and just the most important love of your life but COME ON!!!!! Why am I HERE????” Screamed Cloak Moriarty magically appearing in front of Sherlock’s face. 

_At least this Moriarty also can’t spit on my face. He’s just air-not that I ever wanted to feel him...._

Cloaked Moriarty rolled his eyes once again as Sherlock finally arrived at the conclusion. Putting on a devious smile, Cloaked Moriarty wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s arms and held onto him tightly. “Bye, love,” he joked, beginning to laugh like a maniac with each millisecond that went by allowing his voice to echo louder and louder in the great detective’s mind. 

In the blink of an eye, Cloaked Moriarty aggressively threw Sherlock into bed, and when Sherlock opened his eyes he was back to his original position in bed where he was on the brink of extending his hand to pull off Moriarty’s sunglasses.

_I shouldn’t reach for him. If Moriarty’s here it's because he’s come to pull the trigger on my life or the plans to torture me to death. Which all means he isn’t really-_

The consulting criminal then sat up from the bed like a robot and let out a soft sigh, turning his head to the great detective. Sherlock could see Moriarty’s smile, but Moriarty was glad Sherlock couldn’t see his eyes beneath his sunglasses and his almost useless heart flutter autonomously within his body. On the contrary to his feelings, Moriarty tilted his head in a sadistic way. “Hmm, you didn’t really think I was asleep? Did you, Sherlock?”


End file.
